Gilderoy Lockhart and the Legend of Victini
by AlfheimWanderer
Summary: Most remember Gilderoy Lockhart as the fraud he became, not the boy he once was. The boy who once dreamed of becoming the very best, like no one ever was. The boy who was broken by Hogwarts, by the realization that even on his best day, he would never be more than above-average. The boy who cried out in the moment of his undoing for a second chance - and whose wish was granted.
1. Prologue

_**Gilderoy Lockhart and the Legend of Victini**_

A Harry Potter / Pokémon Story

 _ **Note**_ : As I am neither neither Rowling or one of her licensees, or a licensee of the Pokémon Company, this is hardly an authorized tale, nor one that is likely to ever be authorized, due to the unorthodox nature of it. Yet, for all that, it is a tale with a life of its own, which stole into my mind and demanded to be written. And as one knows, I've always had a weakness for a tale…

 _Summary_ : In the wake of his disappearance from the Chamber of Secrets, most in the Wizarding World remember the late Gilderoy Lockhart as a fraud. A pitiful, fame-obsessed man who stole the achievements of others for his own, and fittingly met his end when a stolen wand exploded in his grasp. Few remember the boy he once was, the child consumed with the desire to become the very best, like no one ever was. Even fewer remember the young Ravenclaw who worked and studied alone, throwing himself into his schoolwork with a passion few had ever seen – until the day he simply _stopped_ , broken by the bitter realization that he wasn't good enough. That he would _never_ be good enough - that even on his best day, he would never be more than merely _above average._ And none would have suspected that in the moment of his undoing, what little remained of the boy cried out for a second chance – or that worlds away, that wish would be granted.

* * *

 **Prologue**

The mystery of what exactly happened that day in the Dreamyard, or the Pokémon Energy Laboratory, as it was once called, would never truly be solved, despite a thorough investigation by some of the greatest scientific minds of the Pokémon world. It would simply be filed away with other age-old mysteries, like why Nidorina (and Nidoqueen) could not breed, why fossilized Magikarp specimens appeared significantly more powerful than current representatives of the species, or how and why new subspecies of Pokémon (like Klink, which only began to appear a century ago) came into being.

At first, the citizens of Striaton City – and most of the Unova region – were gravely concerned over what could have caused the catastrophe that destroyed the region's premier research facility and killed all but three of the scientists working within, but within months, it became clear that no quick answers would be found.

Theories, of course, abounded, mostly focusing on the immense explosion that had been felt throughout Unova, as people were wont to do.

Had the distant Devon Corporation sabotaged the Dream Mist project, given that a limitless source of clean energy could be quite the rival to their own Infinity Energy (which, like the fabled Ultimate Weapon of Kalos, was powered by the life force of Pokémon)?

Had the research being conducted in the Dreamyard stirred up a dormant pocket of the Dragon Force which had powered the Kingdom of the Vale in the legends of Unova?

Had one of the lab technicians, lacking sleep or experience, committed some seemingly trivial error which had eventually caused a massive containment breach?

The only person who came close to understanding the truth of the matter was a young scientist by the name of Dr. Vivian Makomo, one of the fortunate three to have survived the disaster. As a rising expert on Dream Mist, she knew full well that its core property was that it materialized the wishes of those around it. Thus, she speculated that the impure evil thoughts and desires of those associated with the project – the raw greed and ambition of the project's funders, the arrogance of some of the project leads in parceling out credit for bits of the research & the frustration and envy of those subordinate to them, and the fact that some thought an endless source of power might make for a useful weapon – had corrupted the Mist.

That in short, the destruction of the facility was what they – collectively and unconsciously – had wished for.

…not that she went public with her thoughts, or even mentioned them to the investigators – even to her close friend Aurea Juniper, as blaming the dead in the absence of any clear evidence of fault would have been a good way to ruin her career before it had truly begun.

Already, the stigma of having been affiliated with the failed project at all would keep many companies – or universities, for that matter – from even considering hiring her. There was no need to make matters worse by angering the relatives of the deceased, especially when what she suspected would not be believed, nor could be conclusively proven.

So, in the long days following the Dreamyard Catastrophe, while she looked for employment, Dr. Makomo turned her thoughts to the man who had saved her and her two colleagues. An unfamiliar man with no Pokémon who the media was already calling the Hero of Striaton City, who had allegedly witnessed the disaster and rushed inside, heedless of the risk to himself, to see if there were anyone still alive.

…her recollections of what exactly had happened in the wake of the explosion were fuzzy, given that she'd suffered a rather bad concussion, but what she remembered didn't quite match up with the news reports.

She remembered a man – quite a handsome one – saving her, yes, but he hadn't come from outside. No…he'd stepped out of the black mists at ground zero of the explosion, and had stopped short as he looked around, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

Not that she could blame him.

The ruined laboratory had been a scene of carnage and destruction, with fire and death and twisted metal everywhere. All around her, the building – what remained of it – had begun to collapse, as secondary explosions shook the structure apart.

The last thing she'd seen before she passed out from pain and loss of blood was the man _breathing in_ the mist, a strange expression sliding over his features.

Who he was, how he'd gotten there – she didn't know these things, and didn't really care, although she certainly had her suspicions.

After all, if the Dream Mist had brought about disaster by realizing the unspoken desires of those all around her, perhaps it had heard the small, desperate plea she'd made in the wake of everything, and granted her wish.

To be saved. For someone to save her. To be given another chance.

The wish humans always made, the hope they always bore, even in the darkest of times, whether they'd admit it or not, no matter how capable they thought themselves to be.

Here too, she was correct, for her plea _had_ been heard – and a savior had come forth, if perhaps the most unlikely one possible.

In the days to come, when his exploits had become famous throughout all of Unova, people would speculate as to where he had come from, what he had done before becoming a trainer, how he found the courage to stand against Team Plasma and all the other foes he faced – though they found that the answers he gave changed every time he was asked.

But whatever answer he gave, and whatever he claimed to be, Dr. Vivian Makomo, or Fennel, as she was sometimes called, would always remember him as her savior, the mistborn hero who had saved her from what would have otherwise been certain death.

* * *

His name, as would eventually be known throughout the Pokémon World, was Gilderoy Lockhart.

This is his story.


	2. Dies Irae

_**Gilderoy Lockhart and the Legend of Victini**_

A Harry Potter / Pokémon Story

 _ **Note**_ : As I am neither neither Rowling or one of her licensees, or a licensee of the Pokémon Company, this is hardly an authorized tale, nor one that is likely to ever be authorized, due to the unorthodox nature of it. Yet, for all that, it is a tale with a life of its own, which stole into my mind and demanded to be written. And as one knows, I've always had a weakness for a tale…

 _Summary_ : In the wake of his disappearance from the Chamber of Secrets, most in the Wizarding World remember the late Gilderoy Lockhart as a fraud. A pitiful, fame-obsessed man who stole the achievements of others for his own, and fittingly met his end when a stolen wand exploded in his grasp. Few remember the boy he once was, the child consumed with the desire to become the very best, like no one ever was. Even fewer remember the young Ravenclaw who worked and studied alone, throwing himself into his schoolwork with a passion few had ever seen – until the day he simply _stopped_ , broken by the bitter realization that he wasn't good enough. That he would _never_ be good enough - that even on his best day, he would never be more than merely _above average._ And none would have suspected that in the moment of his undoing, what little remained of the boy cried out for a second chance – or that worlds away, that wish would be granted.

* * *

 **Chapter 1.** _Dies Irae_

When he came to, opening his eyes to look upon a new world for the first time, Gilderoy Lockhart found himself laying on his back, nauseous, in great pain – and more than a little confused.

' _Where am I?'_

Wherever he was, it wasn't Hogwarts. At least, it wasn't any part of Hogwarts he remembered, as whatever was under him didn't feel like stone, and the smell…it wasn't the earthiness of the castle, but something far more acrid and metallic.

' _Like something burning.'_

Not that he could see a fire anywhere. Or anything at all, really, save for a nigh impenetrable wall of black and purple fog that swirled all around him, so thick he couldn't see even a meter into it, much less what lay beyond – if there _was_ anything beyond.

But…if he wasn't at Hogwarts, how had he gotten here? One couldn't Disapparate while inside Hogwarts, and the last thing he remembered – one of the only things he remembered – was a wand exploding in his…

' _Oh,'_ he realized, closing his eyes as his body went limp. _'That's it then. I'm dead.'_

With that realization came a surge of disappointment as well as a strange sense of…relief? Yes, relief. It had been hard work deceiving most of Wizarding Britain into believing he was one of the world's greatest adventurers, and particularly so this past year, when he'd foolishly accepted the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts.

The offer had been a trap, he now knew.

' _No, that's wrong.'_

He'd always known it was a trap on some level, given the high turnover rate for the position and Dumbledore (who'd never cared much for him) going out of his way to point out that becoming the mentor of the Boy-Who-Lived – known for defeating the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world – would only bolster his own reputation. He'd just…

' _I saw what I wanted to.'_ Gilderoy would have chuckled, save that he couldn't, not when his life was flashing before his eyes, every lie he told himself revealed for what it was – just as the lies he told would no doubt be exposed in Britain now that he was no longer around.

He wondered if Rita Skeeter would write a book about him, like she had about Armando Dippet, Dumbledore's predecessor as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and a number of other personages.

' _What would she title it?_ The Life and Lies of Gilderoy Lockhart _, perhaps?'_ he mused whimsically, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. _'Or maybe there will be a play. Yes…the_ Tragedy of Gilderoy Lockhart, _a cautionary tale for young witches and wizards. Or…'_

The man sighed, what little levity left to him falling away as he looked at himself – really looked, now that there was no need to lie.

' _No…there won't be a book or a play,'_ he thought soberly. _'There probably won't be anything, except for an article in the Prophet, if I'm lucky. In the end, everything I worked for, everything I did, none of it matters. If I'm remembered at all, it will be as a footnote in the story of the Boy-Who-Lived.'_

Not a hero, or a villain, just a two-bit con man who had been taken in by his own lie, losing his life in the process.

' _Not that I exactly expected to live for all that long, really. I always thought that one day, my actions would catch up with me – though I_ had _hoped my end would come at the hands of a jealous husband, an outraged parent, or a professional rival, not…'_

Not at his own, with a stolen wand exploding in his hands as he tried to cast his signature spell.

Though…

' _It's funny, really. I always thought being dead would be rather less painful than this.'_

He supposed that hurting during the business of d _ying_ was fair enough, but afterwards?

' _It's not supposed to hurt…is it? I mean, haven't I suffered enough?'_

Wasn't it enough that he'd seen everything he'd worked for in his life be torn to pieces around him? That he realized that nothing he had done had _mattered_ in the end? That if he was lucky, he'd only be remembered as a minor obstacle to the Boy-Who-Lived, if that?

Apparently not, from how his body felt like nothing so much as an overly bruised potato. There was no part of him that was free of pain, no part that wasn't screaming at him in agony, not even his lungs, which were burning as he breathed in the black mist.

' _Why…? Where…?'_

"You're in Hell, Gilderoy," came the unexpected answer, as a tall, bearded broad-shouldered gentleman with long, golden-blond hair in a ponytail stepped out of the darkness. "Being punished for your sins, my worthless son."

"Fa-father…?" Lockhart stammered in disbelief, stunned to see the man for the first time in nearly twenty years, wearing the outfit the man who was Professor of English Literature at Edinburgh had worn the last time he had seen him: a white dress shirt and tie under a black vest with matching slacks and a brown overcoat. "How can you…?"

…how could Angus Lockhart be here, looking no different from how Gilderoy remembered him, when it had been so long? Was he…was his father…?

"Yes, son, I'm dead," the man confirmed gravely. "Just like you."

"But…"

His father had always seemed so… _healthy_ , at least for a Muggle.

"What does it matter to you, Gilderoy?" the older man asked of him. "You and your mum ran out on the family years ago, disappearing into that _magical_ world of yours as soon as you were old enough to hold a wand without even looking back."

"That wasn't…"

"You fault? Maybe. More your mother's, true, faithless woman that she was. But tell me, Gilderoy, did you ever wonder what became of us? How were doing? Your sisters worried about _you,_ and if you were doing well, wherever you were," the man continued. "Until the day they died."

"…died?" Gilderoy echoed numbly, as memories of his older sisters and how they used to take care of him came unbidden to his mind. One had been about to go to high school when he left, and the other in middle school, as he recalled. They had seemed so… _lively,_ so vibrant. "How could they be…?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange," came the answer, as Gilderoy's blood froze in his veins.

"Bellatrix…" the wizard repeated, swallowing. "She…"

"The Cruciatus is a terrible way to die."

For once, Gilderoy Lockhart was utterly speechless. Could…could that have really happened? Surely, he would have heard…

'… _no, I wouldn't have, would I? Mum might have, but…'_

She wouldn't have said anything, not when she'd grown disgusted enough with living as a Muggle that she _had_ taken him away as soon as he could go to Hogwarts, which as soon as the Statute of Secrecy permitted.

It was rather unfortunate that under the local application of the Statute of Secrecy in Wizarding Britain, if a witch or wizard married a muggle who did not already know about magic, they were expected to lock away their wand and live as a Muggle, despite having no applicable skills or training for it, betraying no indication that the magical world existed until it becomes unavoidable.

Having a magical child was one of the few situations universally accepted as it being unavoidable for the muggle partner to be told.

His mother, despite being a Hogwarts graduate, a Ravenclaw, like him, had been unable to make use of her knowledge and skill, living as nothing more than a housewife. In the first years, love – and lust – had made up for the loss of her entire world, but eventually, as passion faded, and flirtation made way for chores and responsibilities, and arguments over secrets she couldn't tell, it hadn't been enough.

Especially when her first two children were not magical, which had no doubt disappointed her, as it meant she had to keep living as a Muggle with no way out – and no excuse for leaving that wouldn't make her a bad person.

Which was why when Gilderoy, her third child, first showed magical potential, he had been her favorite. She had told him of his birthright, of the world she came from – the world he belonged to, a world of color and magic and life. She had called him a hero, telling him that he had brought her a new world, and when he was nearly old enough to attend Hogwarts, she had taken him _to_ the new world.

Yes, she'd walked out on the rest of the family, but she'd said that if Gilderoy was to reach his full potential, he needed to be raised among his own kind.

Among wizards and witches, not among Muggles.

His mum had been so happy to return to the wizarding world, to see old friends, to show him Diagon Alley – to be useful again, to feel like she belonged. And with so many new and wondrous things around him, a whole new world that he had made possible, in his mum's words, he hadn't missed his father or his sisters, not really. He had felt a bit sad that they couldn't see this world for themselves, but his mother had told him that it was a place just for those with magic.

And slowly, he'd come to accept that, taking joy in browsing the shelves of _Flourish and Botts_ , in trying out wizarding sweets, in obtaining a wand, in learning a bit of magic from his Mum, in seeing a side to her that he hadn't realized was there.

A joy that shone as bright as the sun.

That was what he had hoped to see on the faces of others when he went to Hogwarts. Why he had been so ambitious. Because he wanted people to look at him like that, to see him as special. Only, he'd never really succeeded – and even on his best day, had never been at the top of his class.

Just somewhat better than average.

But his father was speaking again.

"Do you ever regret what happened, Gilderoy?" the older man asked with deceptive calm. "Leaving us, going to that magical world of yours? Forcing yourself, when you found out you weren't good enough, to live a lie, just as your mother did once? Or did you just never find the time to think about everyone you hurt."

Gilderoy Lockhart said nothing, but something must have shown on his face, as the other man laughed, a bitter, hollow sound with little mirth in it.

"You grew up wrong, Gilderoy. You always wanted to be a hero, never being content with your lot. And that's why you're here, my worthless son," Angus Lockhart intoned with finality. "In Hell. Like Satan, who was once Lucifer, you will suffer here for all the sins you committed in your short life. That's why it hurts, you know. You carry all the pains and sorrows from your life forward into this land of suffering, or did you think there wouldn't be _consequences_ for your choices?" The man leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. "Speaking of which, best get moving, son, unless you enjoy the prospect of burning alive for all eternity. _Awake, arise, or be for ever fall'n._ "

With those words – words that had once been said to him to get him out of bed when he was feeling particularly stubborn, Angus Lockhart straightened and turned away, his broad frame slipping into the darkness and vanishing from sight.

' _So…I really am dead.'_ Lockhart reflected, breathing in a lungful of the black mist, and another, finding that it wasn't as bad as the first time, despite the acrid tang of it. _'But...I can't stay here. Not if my father is right…'_

If his father's words were right, and not just a quotation from one of the old poems he loved so much, he couldn't just let himself just lie here, stewing in his failures. If he didn't, he'd never get up again.

' _And I'll be bloody well damned before I just give up like that,'_ he thought to himself. Some more critical part of him noted that technically, if he was indeed in Hell, he was _already_ damned, but Gilderoy Lockhart was not much in the mood for reason. At the moment, it was the sentiment that mattered. Sentiment and will, as he poured power into muscles, forcing his arms to prop him up, forcing his legs to bear his weight despite the agony screaming through his nerves with each movement, as if they had all been replaced with wires of white-hot metal.

He shook.

He swayed.

He cursed.

He _stood_ , feeling a surge of exultation even as he trembled with exertion.

' _But where do I go from here?'_

The direction in which the shade of his father had vanished seemed as good as any, and so, putting one foot in front of the other, Gilderoy stumbled forward on the start of what he told himself was just the start of a great adventure.

He'd heard _that_ somewhere too, though he didn't quite recall from who or in what context.

Still, it felt right.

* * *

After a small eternity, the bruised and broken body of Gilderoy Lockhart finally emerged out of the fog, almost stumbling as he saw the scene of devastation all around him. He stood in the center of it, with fires blazing bright through the haze of smoke they produced, stone and metal walls in ruin, containers of glass dashed against the walls.

Dozens of human bodies burning like torches in purple-orange flames.

He always thought it would look less industrial…but then, what did he really know about the afterlife? He was no great scholar. Not even a great adventurer, as much as he deceived an entire nation into believing otherwise for over a decade.

' _I have to get out…'_ he thought, cursing the fact that he had no wand, and then cursing again as he remembered that even if he did, he had let his magic rust away enough that he doubted he could manage the flame-freezing charm. Not that such would likely be any use against hellfire.

So, he peered about, seeing a twisted path through the burning area that was somewhat clear of too much debris, where the fire had not yet touched – though how long it would remain that way, as the world shook around him was another matter.

He made his way as best he could on his own two feet, picking his way forward slowly until he came to a sudden halt as he saw someone laying in his path. A woman, sprawled on the ground, blood and ash staining her white coat.

' _Who is she?'_

But who didn't matter. Not when he could see _she was still alive_ , if the rise and fall of her chest meant anything at all, and _she was looking right at him_.

Or she had been, right until her eyes closed and her head lolled back.

Here and now, Gilderoy Lockhart had a choice.

He could leave her behind and try to save himself, knowing that if he did, she would be swallowed up by flames or crushed by debris sooner or later. Or he could try to save her, knowing it would worsen his own prospects of escape.

' _Escape? Who am I kidding? I'm already in Hell.'_

And if he was dead, if he was in Hell, then the worse fate he could think of was to suffer alone, to never have anyone else who would smile at him, who would ever look at him.

Who would ever acknowledge him?

Yes, the woman was beautiful, with long blue-black hair and delicate eastern features, but that wasn't what mattered.

…or mostly wasn't what mattered, given that he _had_ always had a weakness for a pretty face.

What mattered was that if he left her here, abandoning her to certain death, he might as well just die himself, because it would mean his father – that the world – was right. That he _was_ worthless. That he could never be a hero. That everything he'd done in life had been for naught.

What mattered was that if he saved her…

' _Maybe someone will look at me as if I'm worth something.'_

More to the point, maybe he could look at _himself_ and not see someone who was a fraud in every meaning of the word.

So, straining with every bit of exertion, he breathed in the mist, crouched and gathered the…scientist in his arms, in something like a bridal carry, before making his way towards possibly illusory safety once more.

* * *

' _I made it,'_ he thought to himself sometime later, as he found himself laying on damp grass, as a vast building burned in the distance. Somehow, as much due to luck as anything else, he'd escaped the conflagration with the woman in his arms, as well as a couple of badly burned individuals who had followed him, having found hole that had been torn in the building's side.

The two been wandering about in a panicked daze before he stumbled upon them, with one in hysterics about how the blast door wouldn't open, and how they were all going to die. They'd gone silent as he stumbled upon them though, with the woman in his arms.

"Come with me if you want to live," he'd said to them, and, apparently not seeing any better options, they had.

He'd made it outside, about fifth meters from the building, before his body gave out at last.

And as a strange keening blared in the background, and spots of darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, Lockhart found himself…not unsatisfied. Even if he couldn't go any further, even if he'd never had the chance to learn the name of the one he'd saved, or to see her smile, even if the other two were bickering and wailing once more, he'd proven something to himself.

* * *

In the years to come, as he strove to become the very best, a legendary Master like no other, a veritable Hero of Ideals, Gilderoy Lockhart would often look back upon his moment.

Whenever he suffered the sting of defeat. Whenever he failed and was faced with a difficult setback. Whenever he thought himself a fraud for reaching beyond his grasp.

In those times, he would remember that in his first moments in this brave new world, he had made a difference. He would remember that in a moment no one else would have seen or known about, he had not to let someone else suffer certain death, and had somehow found the strength to save her, even when he could barely move. He would remember that in the words of his father, there were consequences for his choices.

' _I made my choice in those moments,'_ he would think to himself. _'Without wand, magic, or much in the way of hope, I chose to be a hero.'_

And to at least one other person, that choice made all the difference.


	3. Awakening

_**Gilderoy Lockhart and the Legend of Victini**_

A Harry Potter / Pokémon Story

 _ **Note**_ : As I am neither neither Rowling or one of her licensees, or a licensee of the Pokémon Company, this is hardly an authorized tale, nor one that is likely to ever be authorized, due to the unorthodox nature of it. Yet, for all that, it is a tale with a life of its own, which stole into my mind and demanded to be written. And as one knows, I've always had a weakness for a tale…

 _Summary_ : In the wake of his disappearance from the Chamber of Secrets, most in the Wizarding World remember the late Gilderoy Lockhart as a fraud. A pitiful, fame-obsessed man who stole the achievements of others for his own, and fittingly met his end when a stolen wand exploded in his grasp. Few remember the boy he once was, the child consumed with the desire to become the very best, like no one ever was. Even fewer remember the young Ravenclaw who worked and studied alone, throwing himself into his schoolwork with a passion few had ever seen – until the day he simply _stopped_ , broken by the bitter realization that he wasn't good enough. That he would _never_ be good enough - that even on his best day, he would never be more than merely _above average._ And none would have suspected that in the moment of his undoing, what little remained of the boy cried out for a second chance – or that worlds away, that wish would be granted.

* * *

 **Chapter 2.** _Awakening_

Over the course of his long and storied career, Gilderoy Lockhart had woken up in quite a few strange situations, some of which had been due to his fame, some of which had resulted from…unexpected complications during one of his "research trips", and some of which had only been achieved with the help of strong liquor.

Still, he'd never come to in what he thought was a hospital, with some bipedal, pink-and-cream creature prodding him with…feelers extending from its floppy ears, under the supervision of a rather perky redhead in some kind of uniform that consisted of a pink dress going down to the knees, a white apron, and a white hat emblazoned with a blue cross.

'… _a blue cross…'_

Something about the symbol seemed familiar, though no organization of Healers he knew of used a cross.

'… _or have uniforms like_ that _!'_ he thought, his gaze drifting to the redhead's shapely legs, left uncovered by the uniform. Sadly, his appreciation for the female form lasted only a moment, as the pink and cream creature chirped shortly thereafter, as it retracted its feelers, alerting what he assumed was a Healer to the fact that he was awake.

"Thank you, Audino," the woman said – in perfectly good English, at that.

Audino – _the creature's name, perhaps? Or is it the name of its species? –_ chirped in reply and backed away, with the…Healer? taking its place by his bedside.

"Hello."

"…hello," Lockhart replied, thinking to himself that there were certainly worse ways to wake up than next to a beautiful woman. If not quite in the usual manner he usually woke up next to such.

"Ah, you can speak. Wonderful!" the redhead exclaimed, as her fingers tapped on the surface of some kind of metallic tablet she held. "We were a bit worried after what happened, Mister…?

"Lockhart," he answered, raising himself to a sitting position so he could meet her eyes to eye. Noting this, the other pressed a button on the bedframe, as part of the mattress bent upwards to support his back. _'Not magic…? But she used a creature for…'_ For something. "Gilderoy Lockhart, at your service. But I believe you have me at a disadvantage, Miss…?"

He gave her his most winning smile – the one that had won _Witch Weekly_ 's Most Charming Smile Award five times over, but she only nodded as her fingers tapped the surface of some kind of metallic tablet.

"Call me Joy." The other's answer was less than entirely satisfying, since he didn't even know if that was a first or last name, but at least she smiled back at him. "Mister Lockhart, do you know where you are?"

"Well, I suppose I'm in a hospital," the adventurer said dryly, making an obvious show of looking around his surroundings. He was in a private room, with a lovely view of the outside, not a large ward shared with other patients, and there was some equipment he didn't recognize, but he thought he was probably right. "Or something clinical."

"That's right. I'm a nurse here, as you can probably tell," the woman responded encouragingly. "And do you have any idea where we are?"

' _Nurse.'_

He repeated the word in his mind, rolling it over and over as if to feel out its shape. There was something familiar about it – he'd heard it before, but not in the last decade or so.

' _Not since I went to Hogwarts…'_

Nurse…that was a Muggle word, for something like a healer, or medi-wizard, right? But then, Muggles didn't use magical creatures to diagnose or treat patients.

At least, they didn't in Europe, though he already knew he wasn't there, as European Healers tended to wear conservative, floor-length robes of some drab color like black or rust-red, with the emblem of their profession – a wand crossed with a bone of some sort, emblazoned on the arm or breast.

(The Healers of St. Mungo's, of course, used lime-green robes, but to his mind, that was not an improvement, as this made them walking eyesores that no doubt increased recovery time.)

Which really, given that they were speaking in English, only left…

"America," he reasoned, his gaze troubled as he looked at Audino – or was it the Audino – in the corner, finding its bright blue eyes rather disturbing. "I couldn't say what city."

"I see," Nurse Joy stated, nodding. "And do you remember how you came to be here?"

"…I…"

What _did_ he remember, really?

"I remember…."

He remembered the ghost of his father telling him he was in Hell. Dozens of bodies burning like torches in purple-orange flames. Making a choice to save someone.

"The woman…" he breathed, his eyes going wide as his gaze snapped back to the redhead. "The one from…wherever that fire was. How is she?"

If there had _been_ a woman, that was, and the events in his memory had actually happened, given that he didn't _seem_ to be dead...

"Miss Makomo and some of her colleagues from the Energy Laboratory are alive and well, thanks to you," the nurse replied, her smile widening _._ "You're a hero, Mister Lockhart."

"Huh. I'm…" Gilderoy Lockhart sat back with a heavy _thud_ , his face going slack as he took in the news. "I don't know what to say. I…really?"

"Yes. Really," she confirmed, though there was a trace of puzzlement in her expression. "You seem unsure."

"It's just…I didn't know if that was a dream. Or if I was dead. Or how I came to be there in the first place. I remember waking up in – the Laboratory, did you say?" She nodded encouragingly. "Waking up there. But before that…"

"Before that?"

"All I remember is getting caught up in an explosion."

* * *

"And that's about the long and the short of it, Vivian."

"Thanks, Aurea," Vivian Makomo said, looking down at what was written on the tablet in her hands. Her old friend and fellow scientist, Aurea Juniper, a striking brunette with bright green eyes, had gone out of her way to give her an update on the situation regarding the incident at the Pokémon Energy Lab, including information on the man who had apparently saved her from a fiery death. "I appreciate you passing this on."

Some part of her felt guilty that she hadn't been able to predict – or stop – the disaster before it had begun, given all the people who had died there. Especially since Dream Mist, and how to harness it, was _her_ area of expertise. Some part felt grateful that she had been saved. Some part felt anger. Mostly though, she just felt annoyed, given that she had been confined to this room for several days already, and had been given nothing to wear other than a flimsy hospital gown while tests were being run on her.

' _I know they're just following procedures for treating patients who were exposed to Dream Mist – procedures I wrote them myself – but I'm still a little annoyed. I'm fine, really. It's been days.'_

"Not at all, Vivian." The chestnut-haired woman said with a small smile. "I'm just glad that…I was worried after hearing about the explosion, you know? Since I know you were one of the lead researchers at the Dreamyard – and that you often work late."

"No later than you. And working in a lab is – well, _was_ – less dangerous than the fieldwork you do."

"Was being the operative term there."

"…yeah."

Makomo flipped through the report on the tablet, scanning the accounts people had given of the disaster – only to pause on a picture of a certain Gilderoy Lockhart, as her mind drifted back to several days ago.

"Huh. I remember him…" she murmured softly, though not so softly that her old friend couldn't hear.

"Oh?" Aurea questioned, glancing over to see what she was looking at. "Old boyfriend of yours?"

"N-no!" Vivian protested, shaking her head. "Aurea, really?"

"Well, no one else seems to know who he is, and since you recognized him…"

"Nothing like that," Vivian corrected. "I remember him appearing from the mist, breathing it in. But nothing after that. So, he's the one who saved me?"

"And your two colleagues," the Pokémon Professor confirmed. "They say he carried you to safety, in something like a bridal carry. Only we have no real idea who he is. Or how he came to be there."

"It says here that his name is Gilderoy Lockhart," Vivian said wryly.

"Yes, that's what he told us, but…"

"But?"

Aurea Juniper sighed, shaking her head.

"The truth is, we haven't been able to find out who Gilderoy Lockhart _is,_ if that's even really his name," she said, her lips twisting in frustration. "He had no identification on him. There's no record of a Lockhart – or anyone with his features – employed at the Pokemon Energy Laboratory. Or registered in any Pokémon League. Or even on any of the passenger lists from abroad."

"Huh. Amnesia, then?"

"Maybe. Certainly, in that he can't remember how he came to be in the Dreamyard in the first place. According to what he says, he just…woke up there, in the mist, after an explosion. But his body shows no trace of the damage that should be there if he was at ground zero of the blast. No broken bones. No burns. Nothing."

"…nothing at all?"

"No. It's very strange."

There was a near silence for a while, as Dr. Makomo continued browsing the information that her friend had provided her.

"He says he's from Britain."

"…yes, so he said, but when we gave him the written portion of the Pokémon League Admission Exam for the Kalos region, he couldn't recognize any of the Pokémon from the area. He also asked, and I quote 'before I begin this, what exactly is a Pokémon?'"

Vivian winced.

"He doesn't know what a Pokémon is?"

"He doesn't," Aurea confirmed, nodding. "We offered him the test because he said he was a teacher who had experience dealing with so-called magical creatures, but…"

"…huh."

"Yeah, so all we know about him is that he speaks English, that he thinks his name is Gilderoy Lockhart, that you've never seen him before…and that according to you, he appeared from _within_ the mists. That is, he was deeper in the Laboratory than you were." The young Pokémon Professor chuckled mirthlessly. "Except that he doesn't remember how he came to be there or even how he got to America."

"Mm."

A thought crossed Vivian's mind as she reflected on these things, and she lifted her glasses, so she could rub her eyes.

"A mysterious stranger who arrives and saves us from a disaster of our making," she murmured. "A person who no one knows, and who doesn't know how he came to be there. It almost sounds like the beginning of a tale."

"Not unlike the tales you used to read," Aurea noted, glancing at her old friend speculatively. "You know, I seem to remember that back in university you had a shelf full of books about dashing adventurers from far-distant lands. Mysterious, swoon-worthy heroes, who travelled the land, solving people's problems and saving damsels in distress, appearing just when they were needed."

"…what are you suggesting, Aurea?"

"You told me once that Dream Mist didn't just make people see things, that it wasn't just a source of energy."

Vivian Makomo nodded.

"…you told me that in a way, it granted _wishes_." Her old friend leaned down, looking her in the eye. "Tell me, when the explosion happened, what was on your mind?"

"I…" Vivian began, before her delicate features froze as she realized what her friend was getting at. "You're not seriously suggesting that he's the result of me wishing that someone would save me…are you?"

"'When we have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth'," Aurea quoted. "The truth is, I don't know. I'm not an expert in Dream Mist. I don't know what its capable of. Can it twist someone's mind and flesh, changing them into someone new? Can it just create a person out of nothing? Since it can create energy, I'd guess it's possible, but…"

"I don't know, Aurea. There's so much about Dream Mist we just don't know!" Vivian almost shouted, before she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "And with the Dreamyard gone…and all that research lost."

"We might never know."

Vivian nodded tiredly.

"So, what now?" she asked.

"I guess the question is what do we do with him?" Aurea summed up. "From what we can tell, he's a hero, if a fairly confused one. But with how he seems to not even know about Pokémon, no identity we can confirm, and no money or people he knows?"

"…he doesn't have anyone."

"Not that he could list. Or any way of getting in touch with them."

Vivian pondered this for some time, with Aurea leaving her to her thoughts, as she was aware of how her old roommate disliked being interrupted.

"Well, there is one way I can think of for him to get some of his memory back…or if he's telling the truth, to learn about Pokémon," she said slowly, eying her old friend. "One that's safe enough even for children as young as ten."

"…are you suggesting that I send him on a Pokémon journey?" Aurea questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure he'd even be interested?"

"Can't hurt to ask."

* * *

And so it was that after several more days, Gilderoy Lockhart was ushered into a conference room in what he'd now learned was a Pokémon Center, where he was confronted by two scientists – one of them being a cheery brunette, and the other being…

'… _her.'_

The woman he'd chosen to save.

"Miss Makomo, I presume?" he greeted, giving her a winning smile. "I'm glad to finally meet you under better circumstances."

"And you must be Mister Lockhart," Vivian replied quietly. "Thank you for saving my life. And those of my colleagues."

"The pleasure was mine," the adventurer responded with a nod.

"Please, have a seat, Mister Lockhart," the other woman said, and he quickly obeyed, as her voice was one that was quite used to wielding authority. She – and Miss Makomo – followed suit, sitting across from him. "Since we haven't been introduced, my name is Aurea Juniper, and I am the Pokémon Professor for this region."

"Charmed," the man answered. "I suppose you have questions for me."

"Just one, really – where would you like to go from here, Mister Lockhart?"

Lockhart blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that we can't find any record of you ever existing," Professor Juniper explained, deciding to simply be up front with what they had discovered. "You have no identification. No knowledge of Pokémon. No money, and few applicable skills, after testing. And now that you're well enough to be discharged, we're wondering what your next step is."

"What are my choices?"

"It would be simple enough for you to find a job at one of the larger companies in Unova," the Pokémon Professor noted. "Especially since you're quickly becoming known as the Hero of Striathon City. Alternatively, we could make arrangements, so you could go back to school and fill in some of those gaps in your knowledge. Or…if you like learning through experience, we could set you up with a Pokémon Trainers License and send you on a journey around Unova."

"A Pokémon Trainers License?" Lockhart echoed. "And what, praytell, is that?"

"It gives you the right to train Pokémon – creatures like the Audino you interacted with over the last few days," Professor Juniper explained. "You mentioned that you had experience dealing with magical creatures, so perhaps you've dealt with some of them before, just by a different name."

"…I don't know," the would-be adventurer admitted. "Since waking up here, there's a lot that's been strange to me. America really is nothing like Britain, that's for sure – even if I don't remember how I came to be here." He shrugged. "I understand what getting a job or going back to school might entail, but what's this about a journey?"

"It's something of a rite of passage," Vivian Makomo interjected. "Almost every child in our world sets out on a journey of self-discovery around the age of ten, so they can gain both a better understanding of how the world works, as well as a better understanding of their place in it, as they strive to become the very best."

"…like no one ever was," Lockhart murmured quietly, with Aurea glancing at him curiously. "Oh, just thinking about something from when I was younger. Tell me…do older people – people like me – go on these journeys, or is it just children?"

"There are adults as well," Professor Juniper confirmed. "You wouldn't be – well, you'd be unusual in that you were a foreigner, but you wouldn't be the only one. So, what do you think? A job? School? Or an adventure?"

Lockhart smiled. Now that the choices had been explained to him, it was really rather clear what he wanted to do.

"I wouldn't mind seeing more of this world," he said. This world had strange…technology, he supposed. Magical creatures alongside muggle science. Everything blended in some wonderful new whole. "And I've always had a taste for adventure."

"Mm, somehow I thought you might choose that," Professor Juniper replied, reaching under the table and withdrawing a travelling case, which she placed before him.

With a quick press of two buttons, the contents were revealed: three balls of red and white, bisected by a band of black.

"Unfortunately, I don't have any of the usual starter Pokémon to hand out, but I think what's in these Pokéballs might do the trick well enough."

"The first is Klink," Vivian explained, picking up the orb on Lockhart's left and depressing the button in the middle. "The Gear Pokémon."

Light blossomed then faded, leaving behind a strange creature that resembled two interlocking gears with six teeth each.

"The second is Joltik," Vivian continued, depressing the button at the center of the second orb.

What was revealed when the light faded this time was something like a tarantula, if yellow in color, with bright blue eyes.

"And the third…"

This last one was the most exotic looking, as its body seemed wrought entirely of plasma, with a whitish blue aura of electricity around it that formed lightning bolt-shaped appendages.

Appropriately, its cry sounded quite mechanical.

"Joltik and Klink _are_ Pokémon I caught for research some time ago, while Rotom isn't actually from Unova," Juniper noted. "It was traded to me by a colleague from overseas in exchange for a Trubbish. As a new trainer, you may choose one of these before you set off on your journey."

"Oh, and is that all I get before I head off?"

"Well, we'll give you a tour of what general features might be useful to you for your journey, and provide you with some clothes and basic traveling supplies, a Pokédex and an X-transceiver, as well, but otherwise, the point of the journey is to learn, right? It would be hard if everything were provided for you. Besides, you'll be able to earn some money through Pokémon Battles.."

"Fair enough," Lockhart conceded. "In that case…" He looked over the three choices, trying to feel which might be the best, but since he had no clue what each could do, finally just settled on the most unusual looking one. "Rotom, I choose you."

The answering cry was almost…electric, a buzzing of some sort, as Makomo returned all three of the creatures to the orbs which held them _– to their Pok_ é _balls_ , and handed him the one with Rotom in it.

"A good choice," Vivian Makomo noted, her fingers brushing his.

"Oh? Does that mean there was a bad one of the three? That you approve of my becoming an adventurer? Or...did you mean something else?"

Maddeningly, her only answer was: "Yes."


End file.
